The ways to Zion, are mourning, because none come to her appointed feasts, All her gates, are desolate, her priests, are sighing, - her virgins, are grieved, and, she, it is bitter for her.

Her adversaries have become chief, her foes, are at ease, for, Yahweh, hath grieved her, because of the multitude of her transgressions, - Her children, have gone into captivity, before the adversary.

All her people, are sighing, seeking bread, They have given their precious things for food, to bring back life, - Behold, O Yahweh, and discern, that I have become worthless.

For these things, am, I, weeping, Mine eye, mine eye, is running down with waters, for, far from me, is any who could comfort, could bring back my life, - My sons are amazed, for strong is the foe.

See, O Yahweh, that I am in distress, Mine inward parts, are in ferment, My heart is turned within me, for I have obstinately rebelled, - Without, bereaveth the sword, Within, is like death,

Let all their wickedness, come in, before thee, and deal thou severely with them, according as thou hast dealt severely with me, for all my transgressions; for many are my sighs, and, my heart, is sick.

Her gates, have sunk in the earth, He hath destroyed and broken in pieces, her bars, - Her king and her princes, are among the nations, There is no instruction, Even her prophets, have found no vision, from Yahweh.

Seated on the ground, in silence, are the elders of the daughter of Zion, They have lifted up dust on their head, have girded themselves with sackcloth, - Bowed down to the ground is the head, of the virgins of Jerusalem.

Blinded with tears are mine eyes, In ferment is my body, Poured out to the earth is my grief, for the sore hurt of the daughter of my people, - when child and suckling are swooning, in the broadways of the city.

To their mothers, they keep saying, Where are corn and wine? Swooning off, like one thrust through, in the broadways of the city, pouring out their life into the bosom of their mothers.

Arise, cry out in the night, At the beginning of the watches, pour out, like waters, thy heart, right before the face of My Lord, - Lift up, above thee, the palms of thy hands, for the life of thy children, who are swooning for hunger, at the top of all the streets!

The lovingkindnesses of Yahweh, verily they are not exhausted, Verily! not at an end, are his compassions:

They, have laid snares, for me as a bird, who are mine enemies without cause:

The lips of mine assailants, and their mutterings, are against me, all the day;

How is dimmed the gold! changed the most fine gold! Poured out are the stones of the sanctuary, at the top of all the streets.

The precious sons of Zion, they who were weighed against pure gold, How are they accounted as earthen pitchers, the work of the hands of the potter!

They who used to eat delicacies, are deserted in the streets, - They who used to be carried on crimson, have embraced heaps of refuse.

Darker than a coal, is their visage, They are not known in the streets - Their skin shrivelleth on their bones, is withered, become like a stick.

Better are the slain of the sword, than the slain of the famine, - for, these, pine away, stricken through, wanting the produce of the field.

They have laid snares for our steps, that we cannot walk in our own broadways: Drawn near hath our end, Fulfilled are our days, yea arrived hath our end.

Swifter are our pursuers, than the eagles of the heavens, - Over the mountains, have they come hotly after us, In the wilderness, have they lain in wait for us.

Orphans, have we become, and fatherless, our mothers, are widows indeed.

Upon our necks, are our pursuers, We labour, and there is allowed us no rest.

Our fathers, sinned, and are not, and, we, their iniquities, have borne.

For this cause, faint is our heart, For these things, dimmed are our eyes: